The Darkest Reflection
by Midna3452
Summary: Strange murders have been occurring across the Nation of England, and Arthur Kirkland knows exactly who is causing them. However, when he decides to put a stop to it, he gets pulled into a world far more sinister than he bargained for...and in turn. his opposite self is released into OUR world as well. Now he must find a way back before even MORE deaths arise. A 2P!/1P! crossover!
1. Chapter One

**A/N: I finally wrote a 2P! _Hetalia_ story! XD I've been on the 2P! bandwagon for a while, but I only just got around to actually doing my _own_ stuff with it... I hope you all enjoy~ **

**Disclaimer: I own nothing in this story except the idea.**

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**The Darkest Reflection**

**Chapter One**

_BREAKING NEWS: DEATHS FROM POISON PILING UP_

_More bodies have been added to the count of mysterious deaths that have been occurring across our great nation over the past two weeks. All of the victims have suffered from the same cause of death: poison. The victims have all been found lying on the floor of their kitchen with the remnants of what appears to be a cupcake scattered around their person. When tested further, it was discovered that all of the "sweets" were laced with arsenic. No one is sure why these deaths are occurring, or who, if anyone, is causing them. Police are keeping an eye out and encourage the public to report any suspicious activity immediately._

England slammed the newspaper down on the counter, glaring at the headline as if it were mocking him. After a few seconds, he angrily crumpled up the paper and threw it in the waste bin. He let out a growl of frustration and swiftly walked out of the room, determination etched across his features.

_He _was the only person who could have done this, who would be _insane_enough to poison people with _cupcakes,_ of all things… But the thing that England couldn't figure out was how in the world he was able to do it in the first place; it wasn't like he was a resident of the _normal_world. Hell, until the murders started happening, England half thought that he might have just been a figment of his imagination, brought on by all the stress of being a Nation as great as he was. However… this was too much of a coincidence for England to deny his existence any longer.

The blonde Nation ran down the stairs to his basement, which he affectionately referred to as his "spell room," avoiding the mounds of magical artifacts that had slowly been piling up along the stairs and over the floor throughout the years. Going all the way to the back of the room, England pushed a box of books out of his way so that he could stand directly in front of the grand mirror that was housed in the corner. He straightened his shirt, squared his shoulders, and knocked on the smooth, reflective surface.

"Where are you, you bloody git?!" he yelled, staring hard into his own emerald green eyes, which were brimming with undiluted anger. Nothing happened for a few seconds, and England tapped his foot impatiently; was he _really_ going to ignore him now of all times? The damn wanker…

Suddenly, the mirror started to shimmer. Slowly, England's reflection was replaced by another image of a man, eerily similar to England himself. This man's features were almost identical to England's own; the only difference was that this reflection had a light dusting of faint freckles across its cheeks and the normal, emerald green eyes had been replaced by a pair of ice-blue ones, which seemed to house an unnerving, slightly off-putting depth to them. The man's outfit was also different; as opposed to England's dark brown pants, white undershirt, and forest-green vest, the reflection was wearing a pair of khaki pants, a pink undershirt, a lavender-colored vest, and a sky-blue bowtie to complete the ensemble.

"My, my, Iggy dear, what's gotten _you_ so riled up?" the new reflection asked, his lips curling into a sickly sweet smile that made England cringe.

"You know _full well_ what's gotten me so 'riled up!'" England yelled, stomping his foot angrily; he did not have time to play games. "Why the hell are you killing people from _my_ world?! And how in God's name did you even _get_ into my world in the first place?!"

The grin on the reflection's face widened, his eyes sparkling with barely-concealed laughter.

"Whatever would give you _that_ idea, love?" he asked, innocently cocking his head to the side. "Why would _I_ ever want to hurt someone?"

"Because you're bloody _insane, _you bastard!" England ground his teeth together angrily as the reflection gasped and put a hand to his mouth.

"What a naughty word!" he chided, frowning. "I don't appreciate that kind of language, Iggy, dear!"

"Then leave me and my world alone, and you won't have to hear it anymore!" England decided to experiment with some reasoning tactics; maybe they would work better than just yelling and cursing… However, the reflection's expression merely shifted back to that sickeningly sweet smile.

"Ooh, sorry, no can do, love," he responded. "You see, I have a secret plan…" He gestured with one finger for England to come closer. The Nation hesitated, his forehead crinkling in thought; he was already too close to the mirror for his own comfort. But the reflection had pursed his lips and apparently wasn't going to say anything more unless England came nearer. Well, the reflection hadn't done anything that indicated that this was where it was escaping from… but did England _really _want to risk taking another step closer?

_I need to know his plan, though…,_ he thought, staring at the mirror and trying to read the reflection's face for any indication of whether he was plotting something. Unfortunately, the other England had a good grasp of the ability to keep his emotions in check; nothing indicative of foul play could be found in his innocent expression.

Deciding that if he didn't take the risk now, he might never get the chance to hear this "secret plan" again, England took two steps closer so that he was almost right up against the mirror's surface. The reflection merely smiled back at him.

"Alright, you git, what is this plan of yours?" England questioned, glaring as hard as he could.

"Hee hee~ Well, the first part is fairly simple," the reflection giggled. "I just need to get you in _here_, so I can be out _there!"_

"What-HEY!" England yelped as the reflection suddenly thrust his hand out of the mirror and grasped England's vest and shirt. Before the Nation had time to react, he felt a floating sensation as he was pulled through the glass, and then gravity returned as he was roughly deposited on the other side. He quickly tried to stand up but he had to close his eyes and stay perfectly still for a moment, his whole body reeling from the transfer between worlds. Soon, though, he was back to his senses.

"YOU DAMN BASTARD! WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?!" he screamed, rushing up to the mirror. He was now looking at a reflection of his own spell room where the other England was currently standing, wearing the biggest grin England had ever seen him possess, his ice-blue eyes shining with internal laughter. It was quite disturbing to see his own face wearing such a crazed expression.

"Oh, hush, love," the reflection said. He wiggled his finger as England started pounding on the glass. Try as he might, no matter how hard he shoved, he couldn't get back through. "Ah, ah, that's not going to help you; I sealed it with magic! No matter how hard you try, you won't be able to get back~"

"_DAMN YOU! LET ME BACK THROUGH!"_ England yelled, slamming his fists into the glass until his knuckles actually started to bleed from the repeated smashing against the cold, hard surface.

"Iggy, dear, you might want to put some bandages on that," the reflection commented, and England glared at him. "Now, as for the other part of my plan… well, you'll have to figure that out on your own! Consider it a game… I _love_ games, don't you?"

England could only stand there seething as his reflection giggled insanely. After nearly a full minute straight of laughing, the reflection finally calmed down and gazed back at England.

"Well, poppet, I guess this is where we part ways," he said. England's eyes widened and he immediately started smacking the glass again. "Ooh, be careful! You're going to make your injuries worse!"

"Oh, like you care about my injuries, you psychotic git!" England responded, trying to ignore the pain as his raw knuckles repeatedly smacked against the solid glass. However, it was only a few seconds before the pain became too much to bear and he had to stop.

"There you go! No use in hurting yourself any further!" The reflection grinned and gave England a little wave. "Farewell, Iggy, dear! I don't know when I'll see you again, but I don't think it'll be anytime soon! Oh, and a word of advice; try not to make Alfie angry. Those bloody knuckles of yours are nothing compared to what my little Alfie will do to you if you make him mad! Hee hee~ Ta-ta, love~"

"No, wait! GET YOUR INSANE ARSE BACK HERE AND LET ME OUT RIGHT THIS INSTANT!" England yelled, but it was no use; the reflection had already reached the door of the basement before the Nation had uttered the last word. He watched as the other England opened the door, gave him one final wave, and exited the room, letting the door slam behind him.

Utterly confused and still not quite sure of what exactly had just happened, England weakly hit the mirror again, leaving a small trail of blood where his hand slid down the glass. His eyes shifted from this smudge to his hands; he stared down at them, horrified at what had just occurred. The reflection was telling the truth; England couldn't get back to his own world merely with sheer force. He would have to find some way to reverse the spell that the reflection had cast on the mirror. It was certainly a spell that has caused the temporary rift between worlds, England was certain; even someone with a limited grasp of magic would be able to sense the lingering essence of that ethereal aura that magic possessed hanging in the dusty air of the basement.

England gazed around the room he was in. The basic layout of it was the same as his own basement, but there was one key difference; this room was almost completely devoid of spell books and magical artifacts, save for a few small objects randomly scattered around.

"Damn it!" the Nation cursed. Leave it to his opposite self to not have any interest in magic… But he knew that the reversal spell for the mirror had to be _somewhere_ around the house; he might as well start down here. He walked over to the nearest little collection of items and quickly scanned over them. Seeing no books, he moved onto the next pile, heaving a huge sigh.

He had to get out of here soon. There was no way his world could handle the other version of himself for very long… and knowing the other Nations, England guessed it would probably take them at least a few days to realize that anything was amiss. He shuddered to think of what evil things his doppelganger could accomplish in that short amount of time… Pausing his search for a moment, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

He _would_ find a way back home, and he would do it before the reflection could wreak any more havoc. He just had to keep looking. England opened his eyes again and noticed a book near his feet. He picked it up and examined it hopefully, only to find that it was an old cookbook. Angrily, he threw it against a wall and watched it fall lifelessly to the ground with a satisfying _slap!_

Suddenly, England heard an even louder bang as the door to the basement was roughly pushed open. The room was too dark to make out any defining features, but the light from the hallway highlighted a very familiar outline in the doorway.

"Ameri…ca…," England quickly trailed off as the person stepped forward. The shape of the boy's outline might be the same, but from his tan complexion and dark hair to the bat covered in bloody nails hanging by his side, England could tell that this person was definitely _not_ the America he knew. He stood perfectly still as the other America stared at him intently, his heart racing. For some reason, this boy made him extremely uneasy. After a few seconds, the boy cocked his head to the side questioningly and uttered in a low voice:

"Boss?"

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**A/N: And there you have Chapter 1. Please let me know what you think! :)**


	2. Chapter Two

**A/N: From now on, each chapter will switch POVs from "The Real World" to "The Mirror Realm;" this will be indicated before the first paragraph so you can keep track! Enjoy Chapter Two! :)**

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**Chapter Two**

**The Real World**

Artie hummed cheerily as he made his way towards the kitchen. His plan was going perfectly! He had managed to get into this new world in really no time at all, and he had even managed to get the other England through the mirror without too much of a fuss! Of course, Artie had gotten into this world a couple of times before, but he could never stay too long; seeing as he wasn't too interested in magic, he had yet to find a spell that would let him linger here for more than a few hours. Until he found a way to enchant the mirror, that is. Now, he could stay here for as long as he wanted, and there was no way that the other England could come to ruin his fun!

Well, unless he found the counter-spell…

"Oh bother, did I remember to hide that?" Artie mused, tapping his chin thoughtfully. Try as he might, he couldn't seem to remember if he'd put the spell book in a place that would be hard to find. He shrugged, and grinned again. "Ah, well, even if I didn't hide the book, it'll still take Iggy a while to look! Hee hee, I rhymed~!"

He made a small bow to no one in particular and entered the kitchen. Wondering if Iggy had the same cookbooks that he did, he began to rummage through the cabinets, humming again. He couldn't wait to start cooking! After a few minutes, he heard a soft fluttering sound. Confused, Artie turned around just as a light green bunny with wings came flying into the room.

"England, I heard you humming! You sound really happy!" the little bunny said, smiling as much as a rabbit could. Artie's mouth split into a huge grin.

"Oh, you're Flying Mint Bunny, aren't you?" he questioned. The bunny nodded.

"Of course! …When did you get that outfit, England? I don't remember seeing it before."

"You can still fly! How interesting!"

Flying Mint Bunny stopped fluttering gently from side-to-side and hovered in one place, instantly sensing that something was greatly amiss.

"Of course I can still fly, England! Why… why wouldn't I be flying?"

"Well, _my_ Flying Mint Bunny is more of a… _Crawling_ Mint Bunny at this point," Artie responded, grinning even wider at the memory.

The little rabbit literally froze in the air for a split-second. Slowly, he started to back out of the kitchen, his tiny heart beating as fast as it could.

"Oh no… I've heard about you… You're that _other_ England, aren't you?!" he asked in a small, frightened voice, starting to shake slightly. "The crazy one!"

"Now, that's not very nice!" Artie said, glancing around. He took a step towards the counter and grabbed a butcher knife that was resting in its slab. Flying Mint Bunny's eyes widened as much as they could. "Why don't you apologize, little bunny? Or, better yet, I could make you look like _my_ little bunny! Yes, that would make me feel quite at home, I think… Just a few little chops-"

He made a slashing gesture with the knife, and Flying Mint Bunny turned around and took off down the hallway as fast as he could. Artie laughed and began to chase after him.

"Ooh, you want to play tag first, little bunny?! Alright, I'm 'it!'" he laughed, picking up speed. The bunny sure was fast! But then again, Artie thought, maybe he was just used to chasing after _his_ little rabbit; it was much easier to catch _him_ than it was to catch this one…

The two of them ran all away around the first floor. As they passed through the kitchen again, Artie let out a giggle of delight.

"Hee hee~ Isn't this _fun?!"_ he yelled happily, and Flying Mint Bunny sped up in response. They ran towards the front entryway and just as they were passing through it, the doorbell rang. Artie paused as the noise reverberated throughout the house, but Flying Mint Bunny kept right on going.

"Aw…" Artie frowned as he watched the terrified rabbit fly out of sight. Oh well; they'd just have to play again another day! But there were more important matters at the moment.

"I wonder who's at the door~" Artie said in a sing-song voice, going up to the grand wooden entrance. He was about to reach for the handle, when he realized that he still had the butcher knife in his hand. That wouldn't do… he needed to keep up the image of the normal Iggy around other people, at least for a little while. He looked around for a place to quickly stash the knife, but before he could find one the doorbell rang impatiently once again. Artie clicked his tongue and hid the knife behind his back; he would just have to run back to the kitchen and put the knife away before the other person could see it.

With his free hand, Artie grasped the doorknob and swiftly opened the door as the bell rang once again. He was greeted by the sight of a man with medium-length golden hair and deep blue eyes. He was wearing a dark blue striped shirt and light brown pants, and he was holding a small bouquet of roses in one hand.

"Bonjour, Angleterre," the blonde said, smiling kindly. Artie let out a small gasp and grinned widely.

"Francy!" he exclaimed, jumping up and down slightly. France laughed softly and looked at him, his gaze questioning, obviously not expecting such a reaction.

"I didn't realize you would be so happy to see me, mon amour!" he remarked. Artie, immediately stopped bouncing, realizing that he was supposed to be acting the opposite of how he normally was. So if he was always happy to see his Francy Pantsy, then that must mean that Iggy was always _un_happy to see _his_ France. Artie pouted; that was no fun… but he had to do it for the sake of his plan.

"What do you want? I…I'm busy!" he said, doing his best to sound stern. To France, he merely sounded like a little kid trying to shoo away an annoying sibling.

"Angleterre, what is wrong with you today? Are you feeling alright?" France frowned; England was acting very strange… not to mention that he was also wearing a very odd outfit for someone as conservative as he was. He reached out a hand and placed it on the shorter Nation's forehead, checking to see if he had a fever.

Artie closed his eyes at the touch; this France's hands were so _warm_. Not like _his_ Francy's hands, which were usually cold, clammy, and shaking from all of the bad things running through his system. Also unlike his France, this one smelled _really good_; a combination of roses with the faint hint of wine and cologne.

"Well, you don't seem to have a temperature… That's good," France remarked, removing his hand. Artie opened his eyes and gazed up at him. His mind was starting to get a little fuzzy… He_ loved_ his Francy Pantsy, of course he did! There was no doubt about that. But this one… this one was so warm and nice…

"Oh,_ sprinkles_!" Artie cursed, biting his lip and quickly shaking his head to chase away these pesky thoughts. He couldn't get too close to this Francy; after all, if he wanted to eventually take over this world, everyone from here was going to become his subordinate in some way or another. He couldn't afford to make any close friends while he was here, at least not right now.

"Um, mon amour? May I come in? It's a bit windy out here…," France said, bringing Artie out of his thoughts. Sure enough, France was currently holding his hair back with one hand to keep it from blowing in his face.

"Oh, of course, love- er, I mean… France," Artie responded, quickly trying to cover his slip of the tongue. He smiled innocently, and France gave him a weird glance.

"Are you _sure_ you're alright?" he asked as he walked inside. Artie nodded and shifted around, always being sure to keep his front towards France as the taller blonde moved out of the way so he could shut the door; he had to make sure to keep the heavy knife out of sight.

"I'm fine, really! Just a little tired, is all. Actually, I'm going to go make some tea; do you want some?" Artie responded. France shook his head and smiled, handing him the bouquet.

"Maybe you could just find a vase to put these in?" he asked, and Artie nodded, trying to hide the huge grin that threatened to light up his face. This Francy was so _sweet, _bringing him flowers for no reason whatsoever! Artie wished that _his_ Francy did things like that…

The shorter blonde started to back up towards the kitchen. France followed him with his gaze, frowning slightly, unsure of why he was walking backwards. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, Artie said:

"Go and sit down in the living room, darl- _France_; I'll be right there."

France stared at him for a few more seconds, and then he shrugged and followed Artie's instructions, heading off towards the living room.

"Whatever you say, mon amour," he responded, but he was already out of sight. Artie quickly turned around and ran into the kitchen, placing the knife back in its slab and looking around for a random vase. He found a nice glass one, filled it with water, and placed the roses in it. Smiling, he leaned in and took a big whiff of the lovely, floral scent.

"Hee hee~ I could definitely get used to it here!" he said to himself. He took one last sniff of the roses and then skipped off to the living room to join his new Francy.

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**A/N: I'd love to hear your feedback on how it's going so far! :3**


	3. Chapter Three

**A/N: Enjoy Chapter Three and please let me know what you think! :3**

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**Chapter Three**

**The Mirror Realm**

"Boss?"

"Uh…" England was standing perfectly still in his reflection's basement, unsure of how to respond to the boy that had just entered the room. Obviously, he had just encountered the opposite version of his America… which meant that this one was _not_ to be trifled with. England had hoped to avoid him as much as possible, but curse his luck- the boy was standing directly in-between him and the door, and the emerald-eyed Nation had a feeling that he wouldn't let him by that easily.

"Al…Alfie?" England questioned cautiously. The dark-haired boy was giving off an aura of… England wasn't even sure _what_ it was, but he knew that it was something _bad._ And that bloody, nail-ridden baseball bat in his hands was making him increasingly nervous; he didn't want to do or say anything that would accidentally set the boy off.

Alfie frowned and slowly walked down the stairs, pausing when he reached the ground level. Now that he was closer, England noticed with a small jolt of uneasiness that his eyes were a deep, bright red. As surreptitiously as he could, the blonde Nation took a small step closer to the nearest pile of objects, ready to grab the closest item to use as a weapon should the need arise. Alfie gazed at him intently, scrutinizing every inch of his features. His eyes eventually fell onto England's emerald green ones, and England noticed that his grip on the bat tightened ever-so-slightly.

"You're not Boss…," Alfie said quietly, now glaring. England took another step closer to the pile of stuff and quickly shook his head.

"No, I… I'm not. Well, I mean, I sort of _am_; at least, I'm _England._ But you're right, I'm not _your_ England and… This isn't helping you at all, is it?" the blonde Nation quickly closed his mouth; he could sense Alfie starting to get annoyed at his rambling.

"Where's Boss?" the auburn-haired boy questioned simply. England pointed to the mirror.

"He went through there."

Alfie quickly ran over to it, startling England with the burst of speed. He pressed his hands to the glass and peered all around the mirror, trying to figure out how his England had gotten through. Suddenly, he froze.

"What's this?!" he asked, pointing to the small trail of blood on the glass and looking back at England. "Why's there blood?! What'd you do to Boss?! Is he hurt?!"

"No, no, it's mine! It's my blood!" England quickly explained; he could swear that Alfie was about to growl at him. "See?!" He held out his hands, showing off his raw knuckles. They were no longer bleeding, but it was obvious that the wounds had been open not long ago.

"Why's it on the mirror?" Alfie questioned.

"I-I was just trying to get back through!" England's heart was beating fast; even though the boy wasn't currently making any threatening gestures, he felt like Alfie was going to snap at any moment. "That bast- I mean, your _Boss-_" England quickly reworded as Alfie bristled at the near-insult. "-cast a spell on it so that no one can get back through unless they find the reversal spell… which is what I'm trying to do."

"Hmph." Alfie snorted and narrowed his eyes. After another moment of intense staring, his expression softened and he looked back at the mirror, placing a hand on the glass. England frowned; Alfie seemed to be very connected to the crazy England…

"…He didn't tell you he was leaving, did he?" the emerald-eyed Nation asked. Alfie glared back at him.

"Why d'you wanna know?" he snapped. England quickly held up his hands in front of him, showing that he meant no harm.

"I was just making an observation! You just… you seem to be very close, and it's obvious that he leaving was a surprise to you."

Alfie gazed at him silently, trying to figure out where England was going with this conversation.

"I-I have an idea," the blonde Nation said slowly. Alfie turned so that he was completely facing him and England took this as a sign to continue. "Why don't you help me find the reversal spell for the mirror? Then I can get back to my world and you can get your Boss back and we'll both be happy."

"Why should I help you?" Alfie asked sharply. "What if Boss _wants_ to be there?"

England paused; how was he going to convince Alfie to work with him? It would be a huge help to have this other America on his side… plus it would be nice not to have to watch his back as much. Of course, he knew that he could never be completely comfortable in this world; one second of being off-guard and another Nation could take advantage of this momentary weakness, just as Artie had done not that long ago.

"Well… how do you _know_ that your Boss wanted to be there?" England asked. "What if it was a mistake?"

"Boss never does anything he doesn't want to. Unless you _made_ him…" Alfie took a threatening step towards England, who in turn immediately scooted back and knocked over the pile of items by his side in his haste.

"No, he did it all on his own! I had absolutely _no_ part in this!" he quickly clarified. Alfie stopped coming forward, but he had his bat raised up a few inches. England let out a slight, frustrated sigh.

Suddenly, he got an idea. It might not have been the most brilliant idea, and there were many things that could go wrong, but it would have to work for the time being. If it didn't… well, then he would have a very angry Alfie on his hands.

"Your Boss wanted you to come with him," England said, trying to keep his tone straight; he had to make sure Alfie bought the lie. The boy's frown deepened.

"He… wanted me to come? Why didn't he tell me?" he asked, confused.

"Because… he didn't have time." England's mind was going a thousand miles a minute as he concocted the story while he spoke. "He only had a small window of opportunity to get through the mirror and he had to take it or it would be gone. But before he walked away and left me alone, he mentioned how much he wished his…" England frantically tried to recall the pet name Artie had so fondly referred to when talking about his America. "…his 'little Alfie' could be with him."

The auburn-haired boy gazed at him, trying to see if he was really telling the truth. England kept his composure as clear as possible, though his palms were sweating and he was trying his best to keep his knees from knocking. Not many things could intimidate Great Britain by this point in his lifetime, but there was just something… _off_ about Alfie's blood-red gaze that gave England a queasy feeling in his stomach.

After a few more tense seconds, Alfie looked back at the mirror.

"Boss really wanted me to come with him?" he asked, and England nodded vigorously.

"Oh yes. Very much so; he couldn't stop talking about you!"

Alfie stared through the mirror for another moment, and then nodded and turned back to England.

"Fine. I'll help you," he said. England smiled and let out a small sigh of relief. "But you've gotta listen to _me_, 'kay? This is _Boss'_ world and _I_ make the rules when he's gone."

"Of course," England agreed. He held out his hand. "So should we shake on it? I'll help you and you'll help me, agreed?"

Alfie stared at the hand for a second, debating whether it was alright to take it. He let out a derisive snort and then firmly grasped England's outstretched hand, shaking it briskly. England noticed that his grip was extremely tight; at least Alfie and his America shared one thing in common- their super strength. Though that might not necessarily be a _good_ thing in this particular situation…

"Alright," England said when they'd both released their grip on the other. "We're looking for a spell book; do you have any idea where your Boss would keep one?"

"Boss isn't really into magic… It could be anywhere in the house," Alfie responded. England sighed and held back the huge groan he was very tempted to let out. If this house was indeed the same as his own, then there were a _lot_ of places that they would have to look.

"Well, let's get started then… I'll go upstairs and look, and you can continue the search down here-"

"No!" England was sharply cut off. Alfie glared at him again. "_I'll_ look upstairs; you stay down here. Just 'cause I'm helping you doesn't mean I trust you, got it?!"

England nodded, not wanting to argue unnecessarily. Alfie stared him down for another few seconds and then promptly turned around and walked back across the room, up the stairs, and out the door, letting it slam shut with another loud bang. England sighed again.

_Well, it's not the most _ideal_ situation, but at least Alfie's on my side… I think,_ he mused. He looked around and saw a box off to his left. He went over to it, running a hand through his hair.

"God, what I wouldn't do for a cup of tea right now…," he muttered. He knelt down, opened the box, and once again began the search for the spell book that would get him home and put all of this craziness behind him.


	4. Chapter Four

******A/N: I hope you enjoy Chapter Four! Please let me know what you think! :3**

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**Chapter Four**

**The Real World**

France frowned as Arthur came bouncing into the sitting room. The Frenchman's grumpy little Angleterre was acting very, _very_ strange; his clothes were completely different than anything Francis thought Arthur would ever be caught wearing, and now the short-haired blonde was literally skipping towards him. Arthur had never had that much energy, and even if he had, he would surely_ never_ show it by bouncing up and down like an excited child.

"Mon amour… didn't you say you were going to make some tea?" Francis questioned as Arthur sat down next to him on the couch, smiling widely. Said boy let out a tiny, almost imperceptible gasp and put a hand to his lips.

"Oops! I suppose Iggy wouldn't have forgotten that…," he muttered to himself, too quietly for France to hear.

"What did you say, Angleterre?"

"Oh, nothing!" Artie grinned again and folded his hands in his lap. France merely stared at him, his deep blue eyes narrowed. His gaze wandered over the Englishman's face; there was _something_ not right with the way he looked, besides the flashy outfit, that France just couldn't quite put his finger on.

"Wait…," he said after a moment, and Artie cocked his head to the side, looking strikingly similar to a curious puppy. Francis reached out a hand and lightly traced a line from Artie's left cheek right under his eye, over the ridge of his nose, and onto his right cheek.

"Angleterre… since when did you have freckles?" Francis questioned, and Artie immediately flinched, slapping the hand away and turning his head in a vain attempt to hide his face from view.

"I-I don't know what you mean, Francy-IS, FrancIS!" the Brit stuttered, a slight blush coloring his pale cheeks. Not only was he mad at himself for not thinking to cover them up, but Artie _hated_ his freckles, and it only made him even more annoyed and flustered when they were pointed out. It wasn't _his_ fault that they were so prominently displayed across his face! Why did people always have to mention them?!

"Angleterre, look at me!" France said loudly, breaking Artie's mini-rant inside his head. The short-haired blonde quickly shook his head, but France ignored this opposition and, grabbing England's chin, gently tugged his head to face him. Artie put a hand over his face, trying to hide the ever-so-slightly darker flecks of skin, but France used his free hand to grasp England's own and put them in his lap.

"Let me go!" Artie whined, struggling to get free. However, France wasn't going to let that happen; something was seriously wrong with his England, and he was going to get to the bottom of it right now. As Artie stared down at their hands, France noticed something that, though he didn't understand why, sent a shiver down his spine. Tugging England's chin up again, more forcefully this time, France stared into eyes that were not the emerald green that he had always loved, but were now a sky-blue color, only a few shades lighter than his own.

"You're not my Angleterre," the Frenchman said in a low voice, glaring. "Who are you?! And where is _he?!"_

Artie froze, his expression suspended in a moment of fear. France gripped his chin a little tighter, prompting him to answer the question. The Brit stayed stock-still for a few seconds, and just as France was beginning to wonder if something _else_ was seriously wrong with this man, Artie started to laugh. It wasn't a hearty laugh, the one that France would usually- if albeit rarely- hear England make; it was more the kind of laughter one would hear from a child who has just done something very bad and knows that they're going to get away with it.

"Oh well, I guess Francy Pantsy's figured it out~" Artie sang, grinning widely. Before France had a chance to react, Artie slipped his hands out of his grasp and pushed the Frenchman back, making him release his grip on the Brit's chin. As France quickly tried to right himself, Artie jumped up and back a few feet.

"Now the question is… what am I going to do with you, hmm~?"

France's eyes widened; he still didn't know how or why this man was trying to take his England's place, but he could already tell one thing with absolute certainty: this Brit was utterly insane. The crazed look in his eyes said it all.

"Just tell me what you did with Angleterre," France said, standing up cautiously. He had no idea what this man could or would do, and he didn't want to take the chance of finding out at the moment.

"Hee hee~" Artie giggled, wiggling his finger. "I can't do that, Francy Pantsy; that would ruin all the fun! But I guess I can tell you _one_ thing…" France gazed at him expectantly as he giggled again. "You don't need to worry; your Iggy's still alive! …Probably!"

"_Probably?!"_ France exclaimed, a chill shooting through his veins. He needed to get to his England _now._

"Well, I'm sure Alfie wouldn't be able to kill him that easily since he looks so much like _me_; my cute little Alfie's very loyal, you know! He'd _never _lay a hand on me~ Not that I'm saying he won't be able to tell us apart, but it would still go against his instincts to hurt a fellow England~"

"Alfie?! Who is- no, I don't need to know right now! Just take me to Angleterre!" France clenched his fists by his sides as Artie shook his head.

"Uh-uh," he said simply. France took a deep breath, trying to remain calm.

"And why _not?"_ he questioned through gritted teeth.

"Because that would ruin the game, silly!"

"_This isn't a game!"_

"Francy!" Artie pouted and crossed his arms in front of him, seeming not to notice that the Frenchman was seething with anger. "There's no need to yell! Mind your manners!"

France's mouth fell open for a split-second; what was _wrong_ with this man?! He had just kidnapped a European Nation, tried to impersonate him, and now had the gall to comment on France's _manners? _He had had enough.

Moving quickly, hoping to catch the short-haired blonde off-guard, France snatched the medium-sized, lavender-colored lamp off of a nearby table and rushed forward. He brought his arm down with a yell, aiming for the false England's head in an attempt to knock the crazed man unconscious; once he was out cold, he would be a _lot_ easier to deal with. However, to France's horror, Artie simply moved out of the way with one minute step and the lamp went crashing onto the floor next to his feet.

"How-" France began, but was cut off as the false England suddenly rushed towards him, placed his hands on his chest, and pushed him with all his might. The Frenchman, caught completely off-guard, lost his footing and fell onto the carpeted floor. Immediately, trying to ignore the jarring shock of pain that rushed through his back at the impact, he scrambled to get back on his feet. But almost before he could even take a breath, the other England was standing over him, the twin lamp to the one that France had just broken in his hands and a terrifying grin on his face.

The Frenchman had just enough time to hear Artie utter another child-like giggle before the lamp came crashing down on his head and the world went black.

Artie's shoes crunched over broken glass as he moved around the long-haired blonde to stand behind his head, clucking his tongue at the nearly-lifeless body.

"You really shouldn't have come after me, Francy," the Brit chided, reaching down to grasp France under the shoulders and hoist his torso up off of the ground. "Now I have to take you- _ugh_- upstairs all by myself, and-_oof! -_ you're kind of heavy!"

He continued to mutter irritably as he started to drag France out of the living room, paying absolutely no mind to the loose shards of glass that were caught in the Frenchman's hair, nor the ones that were lightly grazing his cheeks and leaving thin, red lines. With a fair amount of effort, Artie eventually managed to take France up to the guest bedroom at the top of the stairs.

"Alright, Francy Pantsy, you can sleep here for a little while until I come back~!" he said, unceremoniously dropping the long-haired blonde onto the floor and eliciting an unconscious groan. Artie merely skipped out the door and locked it behind him, another tiny giggle escaping his lips.

He couldn't _wait_ to play with his new Francy once he woke up; there were so many experiments that he wanted to do! But while Francy was sleeping, he might as well find some of the other Nations and see what _they_ were like. He hoped that they were all as nice as this Francy was; maybe _they_ would want to play with him…

Grabbing one of his doppelganger's coats that was hanging off of the coat rack by the front door, Artie gave the bedroom door directly up the stairs one last glance and then exited the house, a huge grin of anticipation spread across his face. He knew _just _who to look for first!

It was time to find his other Alfie.


End file.
